


Witness

by Not_You



Category: Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Public Sex, Short, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 02:55:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10548846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: Rorschach catches a couple fucking in an alleyway and can't look away.  While pining for Dan, of course.





	

He doesn't know why he's still watching, but he can't tear his eyes away. He had thought they were a hooker and her client at first, ducking in here to paw at each other, the woman's back against the wall as she turned a teasing pink smile up at her partner. But now he can see the rings on their hands as she tangles her fingers into his dark hair and he grips her ass to lift her slightly. He ruts against her like any other animal, but rests his forehead on hers to stare into her eyes, his glasses crooked where they've slipped unremarked to the tip of his nose. The woman pushes them up for him, and Rorschach suddenly has to bite back a moan, sense memory of performing the same service for Daniel when something on his work bench requires both hands sweeping over him.

It doesn't help that this man resembles his partner in a few tiny, devastating ways. The glasses, the sort of sweet, helpful look on his face even through the lust. His hands are a little like, too, and Rorschach idly wonders if he builds. One of his own gloved hands has slid down to palm his cock through his pinstripes, and he snatches it away as if he has touched a hot stove instead of his own body. Disgusting. Just like the perverts who watch women through their blinds and prowl around playgrounds with their pants pockets neatly slit. Speaking of women, he barely dares to look at her. It makes his stomach churn with nausea even as his cock twitches like some loathsome invertebrate under a stone and tears prick at his eyes. It's more than her beauty like a dull razor on his senses, it's the radiant joy.

Pain and shame both seem foreign to her as she deftly grips her husband (for so he must be, there's no furtiveness about this, no sense that those rings aren't a real set) and guides him inside. They both make the same soft sound, as if they're one thing, and the back of his neck prickles, remembering a sticky nightmare of melding flesh, but he can't look away. His hand wanders again and this time he lets weakness win, legs shuddering in the shadows as he peels off his glove, pocketing it and letting disastrously naked flesh come into contact. He's wet, and grimaces at the slime as his palm slides down the shaft with an infinitesimal wet sound that makes him want to vomit. He watches, his grip tightening to the point of pain in some kind of penance for his intrusion. That's definitely what it is, and he's glad he can't hear things they're murmuring to each other, obviously meant for no other mortal ears.

Her hair is gold, even in this dingy light, and he knows it's natural. It flies as she tosses her head, and her husband buries his face in its waves. The movement of one hand catches Rorschach's eye, and he stares as it slides over the point where they join and then back, and that's filthy, he can't believe anyone's wife would... she shudders and bucks, and her demand for more is something he can hear. His eyes are huge behind his mask, and almost absently, his hand mirrors the same movement, the reach to press one wet fingertip in as ugly as it should be, awkward and ungainly and oh god he doesn't know why he can't stop thinking of Daniel's hands as the couple reaches their climax, the woman helping herself along as her husband shudders in her arms, the expression on his face almost like a child going to sleep, glasses hopelessly crooked.

She makes a little cooing noise that strikes Rorschach like a dart, and drops back into her shoes, abandoned on the alley floor. Rorschach does his best to choke quietly, coming to his own crisis and scrubbing off with a handkerchief as they straighten their clothes, laughing softly and stepping out onto the street again when respectability is restored. Rorschach stands alone, shudders, and then turns his feet toward the Owl's Nest, suddenly and unspeakably lonely.


End file.
